pace with the subject; but as the two together produce a soporific effect, our good bishops had something to do to keep their eyes open. They yawned, and sipped, and rubbed their eyes; but they had almost exhausted their topic, which they could not renew as easily as their bottle; the dialogue became still more dull, and was just on the point of coming to a stand-still, when the host bishop’s shepherd, Conrad, appeared driving his master’s flock, a well-washed, well-fed and numerous flock of sheep, as usual, past the bishop’s window.
Now the good bishop was himself in the habit of reviewing his flock every evening. As Conrad drew nearer to the spot, and he heard the bleating and the tinkling of the bells with which some of them were adorned, he could not resist his old practice of going to meet them, and he took his guest along with him into the court yard. As he passed by, Conrad, the shepherd, respectfully doffed his cap to his master with his customary salute of “God save the Lord Bishop!”
“Good e’en to you Conrad,” was the reply; and then followed the old enquiry; “And where is the lame ram, where is Harne?” Conrad stuck his two fingers in his mouth and gave a whistle, so loud and shrill that the stranger bishop not expecting such a cracking sound quite so near him, put both his hands to his ears as if to save their drums. After
